Canine Capitalist

My sweet, loving, generous, carefree dog was recently transformed into a capitalist. How? He came into ownership of some items that he deems very valuable. Before that acquisition, he was just a nonchalant hound. It's a fact that when we come to own things, it affects us—even when “us” is a dog. Possessing capital changes us. It can even come to define who we are; to wit, some people who accumulate lots of stuff and turn greedy for more.

Now, simply to own things is no problem in and of itself—it's the parsimony that it can foster in us. Every living creature is inclined to surrender to greed. Give a bird and opportunity to dine on fermented grapes and it'll get drunk. Give a puppy all the meat it wants and it'll soon be barfing it back up on the bedspread. Bury a kid at Christmas time with a load of toys and he'll soon expect a bigger bedroom to hold all his stash. And, of course, we all know about Wall Street bankers.

So how did my dog become a capitalist—a possessor of (excess) property? He's always had his ball and an occasional bone to gnaw on. These, however, are merely simple possessions—not the treasures he's recently procured. A dog's life is usually quite carefree and untroubled. Its humans provide food, shelter, love, and other necessities. A dog doesn't need to own much.

But our dog just came into ownership of several precious objects: multiple deer parts. Deer hunting season recently ended around here, so deer remains are scattered around the woods; parts like legs, heads, and innards, left behind by hunters. In the aftermath of previous hunting seasons our dog was too young and naive to ramble the woods and find these treasures. Now he is older, wiser, braver... and wanders. He finds many delectable leavings.

He loves it! It's such a wonderful treasure! Now, we are fine with his eating deer limbs and organs. It's better quality food than the dry stuff we feed him from a bag; it's fresh (well... it was a couple of weeks ago), nutritious, and antibiotic-free.

Deer leavings are also abundant right now, so the dog has acquired many more morsels than he can immediately consume. Such a cornucopia! He's still alive, yet already residing in dog heaven! So he carries the pieces home that he cannot eat at the moment and buries them in secret places in the woods around the house. But now he has booty and it must be protected! He must guard his treasure from countless marauders, looters, and thieves. We chuckle as we watch him skulking in the woods—digging holes and burying his goodies.

This treasure has transformed him into a true capitalist, with goods to protect and worry over. He may have surreptitiously and cleverly hidden his hoard, but he knows that there are various critters out in the woods who also have a good nose; a sense of smell that will inevitably lead them to his stash. So, like a good capitalist, he frets. He stays out in the cold for long periods—on guard duty. While in the house, his attention is often directed outside. He even seems to have developed the scowl of ownership! The least imagined sound out there may be a signal that his treasure is about to be purloined. He frequently woofs in a possessive manner—charging to the door, anxious to be let out.

He bursts through the door, barking authoritatively, as he plunges into the woods. He's gone for an hour or more, making his rounds, digging up some parts that he suspects are vulnerable and moving them to new hiding places. He's become a neurotic capitalist! He acts suspicious much of the time. If he could, I think he'd ask me to store all his goodies in an outbuilding, under secure locks. But then again, I'm not sure he'd trust me not to steal a leg or a liver.

In the house he shirks his routine plate-cleaning duties. We depend upon him to clean up any remaining particles of food we leave on plates and pans, and now he turns up his nose at such measly offerings! Too many vegetables and spices for his delicate taste! Until his stash runs out, he's got better things to do than lick our dishes clean. A canine capitalist can afford to reject these lesser-quality offerings. He'd rather go outside, dig up another body part—fast moldering and coated with leaves and mud—and chew on some real food.